


the (dorm) where it happens

by griffenly



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27164477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griffenly/pseuds/griffenly
Summary: Bellamy knows, deep down, that he could say no and Marcus would be fine with it. Clarke would probably be grateful, honestly. There is literally no reason for him to sabotage his own senior year by partnering with his nemesis.He has no idea why he does it. A moment of temporary insanity, perhaps.(Or: Bellamy & Clarke are assigned as head RAs for the same dorm.)
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 151





	the (dorm) where it happens

**Author's Note:**

> Perhaps the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. Clarke POV potentially coming soon? Stay tuned.
> 
> Title, of course, from Hamilton.

If someone had asked Bellamy, five years ago, he definitely would not have said that a _dorm room_ , of all things, would be making him emotional. They are sort of this _global_ representation of college in the abstract, but not in any kind of poignant or sentimental way. He would have thought the quad or his cap and gown or, hell, maybe even his last day in a classroom would be making him choked up.

As it stands, he’s the head RA of his hall this year, and so he’s the very first one to move in. Standing in the sparse room – bigger than any of the rooms he’s had before, probably than any room he’s _ever_ had, if he’s being honest – there’s something weighty about it all. This year, he’s going to be the first person in his family to graduate from college.

The _first_. It makes something warm swell in his chest.

When his mom had died, five years ago, and he’d deferred… it had felt impossible. The deferral just seemed like postponing the inevitable. But then Octavia’s aunt had shown up, out of nowhere, frantic and kind and actually _wanting_ to help. He still almost hadn’t gone, when the year was up, had told her he could stay and help, because O was twelve and broody and all things _angst._ Becca had actually sat him down, eyes serious, and said, “Don’t be a martyr.” And then, after a minute: “I’m going to take care of her.”

And, miraculously, he believed her.

It hadn’t been _easy_ , by any means. They were more comfortable, for sure, but definitely not wealthy. While Becca could make sure O was supported, she wasn’t technically responsible for Bellamy, and he didn’t necessarily want it that way. So he’d applied for the RA job as soon as he’d seen the posting his first year – he knew it meant they’d cover his housing sophomore year, they’d pay him, and there was a small supplement for meals, too. It was a hell of a deal, on top of the financial aid he’d been given.

Plus, he knew he needed a change. RAs got their own rooms, and his first year roommate, Murphy (who went by last name only), was _fine_ , but also gave off the vague aura of having committed various crimes at some point in his life. Which, you know, was never the _most_ comforting of vibes. And because of his strange, makeshift gap year, Bellamy struggled to feel connected on campus, to find his _people_ the way the everyone had promised he would as he’d wandered around campus during Welcome Week.

And even though he’d applied for the financial (and personal) perks, Bellamy ended up really _liking_ the whole RA thing. O told him it was because he was born a thirty-year-old dad, which may have been slightly true, but it was nice to get involved on campus and feel like he had responsibilities outside of just class and parties. He actually even made _friends_ , and so he reapplied junior year too, and when the applications for head RA came around, he figured he’d give it a shot.

So, now, as a senior, being an RA is sort of Bellamy’s _thing_. And it feels… final, somehow.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head. He really needs to pull himself together.

He tosses his duffel bag on the bed – a queen this year, which is even better – and opens the window to let the remnants of the summer air filter through. Dusk is settling outside, and he knows he needs to start thinking about ordering something for dinner, since the dining halls won’t open for another couple of days until full RA training starts. There’s a full kitchen on the first floor, but it’s getting late and he’s already feeling drained from the drive into town.

His thoughts are interrupted by a light knock on the doorframe, and he jumps slightly at the noise. When his gaze lifts, Bellamy smiles at his supervisor. “Hey, Marcus.”

“Hi, Bellamy. You getting settled in okay?”

“Yeah, I just got in about a half hour ago. Probably going to take tomorrow to unpack before training starts on Monday.”

“Good, good.” Marcus Kane pauses, hesitant, and that’s when Bellamy realizes there’s someone else standing next to him. His eyes flit downwards, catching on the blonde waves, and he feels his stomach drop. Marcus clears his throat. “So, Bellamy, I believe you know Clarke Griffin?”

She steps forward, almost _timid_ , which is never a word Bellamy associates with Clarke. Her eyes have the tiniest glint of defiance, but she offers him a small smile, one that looks – apologetic, if he had to pick a word, and Bellamy is convinced he must be hallucinating.

“Yeah,” he says, finally regaining some sense of control over his voice. “We worked in Flinn together last year.”

Marcus nods. “Well, there seems to have been a mix-up, and you were both assigned here as the head RAs.”

His mouth goes dry, and he just stares at his supervisor for a long moment, trying to come up with something to say. “What?”

“It’s never happened before, so I have no idea what went wrong in our hiring process, especially because no other buildings are missing head RAs either. And we obviously don’t want to take a position away from anyone.” Marcus looks between the two of them, and the tension stretches. “I wanted to ask, first, if the two of you could make this work before I try to find Clarke a different placement. Since this is where she was assigned to begin with.”

Bellamy knows, deep down, that he could say _no_ and Marcus would be fine with it. Clarke would probably be grateful, honestly. There is literally no reason for him to sabotage his own senior year by partnering with his nemesis.

He has no idea why he does it. A moment of temporary insanity, perhaps.

But he says, “Yeah, of course. I’m happy to work with Clarke this year.” He tries not to linger on the soft look of surprise that overtakes her face, the way her lips part into a round _o_ shape as she looks at him with a strange mix of something akin to gratitude and respect.

He’s definitely going to regret this.

***

It’s not that he _hates_ Clarke Griffin, exactly.

It’s complicated, really. They were both RAs in Flinn Hall last year, and they got off on the wrong foot at the very first RA staff meeting – she was fifteen minutes early, spent the entirety of the meeting scribbling furious notes, and at one point even _raised her hand_ to ask a question. And, okay, none of those things make her an evil person or anything. There was no inherent reason for Bellamy to dislike her at the time. But she was just so intense about it all, and… RA stuff is _his_.

Which he knows, rationally, is ridiculous. There are a few hundred RAs on staff across campus – Ark University is a big school, and there around ten different residence halls with anywhere from ten to thirty RAs per building. On a base level, Bellamy can’t _monopolize_ the RA experience. 

But he’s usually the only one who takes it seriously. The other RAs just staple a box of condoms to their doors and occasionally host some open hours where their students can come in and ask questions, and that’s the extent of it. But Bellamy likes to actually _do things_. Once, he turned his entire floor into an actual haunted house for Halloween, and developed trivia specific to the students on his floor so they’d get to know each other better and become more invested. He tries to be intentional in his programming, curating it to his students’ specific needs, and it seems to be working; last year, they actually retained a handful of upperclassmen, which was practically unheard of when he started.

So Clarke showing up – and like, _showing up_ – rubs him the wrong way. Sue him.

Although, he has to admit, she is a good RA. She plans fun events, her students seem to like her, and she seems to actually care about them, too. He also knows she’s openly bisexual and hosts queer-friendly events for her students, which earns her more than a couple of brownie points in his book. There is a piece of his brain that reminds him that it could be _nice_ , to have someone as interested in this stuff as he is, to have someone to share it with.

But being an RA is _his_ in a way that so little has been in his life, and Clarke is the daughter of the dean of the medical school. She doesn’t _need_ things like this for extra cash, to have a place to live, or even just to have something for herself – she’s probably doing it as a resume boost, because it’ll look good on her own grad school applications.

So, no. He doesn’t _hate_ Clarke Griffin. Maybe he’s just jealous of her charmed life, a little bit. Or he’s just feeling more sentimental about his senior year than he really thought, sad about leaving the RA stuff behind.

Miller has other ideas.

As soon as Bellamy fills him in on what happened, Miller nods once and then says, “You’re into her.”

Bellamy glares at him. “What.”

“We’ve been sitting here for – what? Twenty minutes? And you have not come up to breathe. All you have done is talk about Clarke Griffin.”

The café is fairly deserted, the faint calm before the storm of student move in, so his groan seems to echo. “Because I’m going to have to work with her _all year._ ”

Miller rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his coffee. He’s also an RA, so he’s moving his stuff in today before their training starts tomorrow. They met junior year, which was both Miller and Clarke’s first working in res life, and Bellamy is grateful for him most of the time. Less so when his sarcastic jabs are being directed _at him_. “And what about last year, when you were obsessing over her events the entire time?”

“I’m competitive? And possessive over my activities?”

“Cool. Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“I’m not into Clarke,” he says, decisive. As if summoned, his phone buzzes, and her name pops up on his screen.

 **Clarke:** You busy right now? I figured we could start talking about training stuff

 **Clarke:** I do realize it is also 8 am, so this is making me look insane

He smirks slightly. “I need to go work on training stuff,” he tells Miller, pointedly _not_ looking at him.

 **Me:** On brand as always

 **Me:** That’s probably smart though. I’ll be there in 10

Bellamy gathers his stuff, offering Miller his middle finger when he just wiggles his eyebrows. There’s a strange knot of nerves in his stomach, even though he _knows_ they’re just going to be talking about work. He is, above all else, a _professional_. He knows Clarke is, too. They both care enough about the success of res life in general to have applied to be head RAs in the first place, so that puts them on fairly even ground.

But there was just something so strange about the way she looked at him last night, the gratitude and awe that had been etched into her features. It makes him feel itchy just thinking about it, and he almost wants to pick a fight with her just to get back to some sense of _normalcy_.

When he arrives at her door, it’s half open, so he knocks lightly and nudges it open with his shoulder. She’s sitting on her own queen bed with papers scattered on the floor and a pencil tucked behind her ear, a pensive look on her face that creates a small dent between her eyebrows. Her hair is loosely braided off of her face, a few curls falling in front of her eyes, and he realizes she looks exhausted. He feels a little bit like an asshole, coming from a coffee shop without even asking if she wanted anything, at eight in the morning. She has a laptop precariously perched on her lap and she’s typing furiously, and he offhandedly wonders if she took up coding over the summer just for fun.

“Hey,” he says, awkwardly hovering in the doorway.

Her concentration doesn’t break, eyes never leaving the computer. “Hey,” she repeats. “Do you want coffee?”

“Oh, uh, Miller and I grabbed some before this.” His gaze roves over her room, realizing this is the first time he’s ever been in her space. There’s a poster for a band he’s never heard of and plants lining her windowsill, and he’s craning his neck to read the spines of the books on her nightstand when her voice interrupts his thoughts again. 

“Cool. Do you want to sit?” Her voice is tinged with humor, and he almost guiltily turns back to her. Clarke’s eyes are actually on him now, and she’s watching him with amusement.

He clears his throat. “Yeah.” Before he can find a spot on the floor, she shifts on the bed, creating space for him. He drops his backpack and hesitates, but her attention is already back on her laptop, and he remembers that he’s the one making it weird. _Professionals._

He toes off his shoes and slides on top of her comforter, shifting until his back rests against the wall behind him. Sure enough, if Clarke’s uncomfortable, she makes no indication, just starts talking. “So, I’ve been looking at the schedule from last year, and it looks pretty good. I did want to add a session or two for queer students, since my students responded well to the programming I created for them last year and I didn’t see anything specifically built into the training. What do you think?”

He’s caught off guard, again, although he’s not sure _why_. Clarke specifically asked him to be here to talk about training, so he should be more prepared for him to take his opinion into account. But it still does something funny to his chest, to know she values his input. “I think that’s a good idea. Miller also ran a few programs for the LGBTQ+ kids in his hall last year, so he might be a good person to tag in if you want examples of programs to run or talking points. It definitely made your students feel really supported last year,” he adds, and can see some color running into her cheeks.

“Thanks,” she says, biting her lip. “And then the only other thing I wanted to talk to you about with training was… our dynamic. Since we’re going to be co-supervising them.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Our dynamic?”

Clarke shifts on the bed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know you weren’t really planning on having to co-lead your RAs this year,” she starts delicately. “And we haven’t always been… on the best of terms. So I just wanted to make sure that – we were – a _team._ Because we’re going to have to be, in front of them at least. So if you have an issue with me, I don’t want all of the RAs to know about it, I want you to come to me about it.”

At that, she looks up at him, eyes full of vulnerable honesty, but with that steel that’s all Clarke. His smile is completely involuntary, and he knows this doesn’t mean they’re just _good._ They’re going to have to actually do the work and lead the team, but for the first time they’ve actually established that they’re on the same side.

“We’re a team,” he confirms.

Her smile is soft, face tinted gold in the morning sun.

It’s been less than twenty-four hours, and Bellamy knows he is well and truly _fucked_.

***

“So that’s the plan for move in. It’ll start tomorrow and go through Saturday, so make sure to consult the schedule to figure out where you’ll need to be and when.” Clarke glances at Bellamy and nods once.

He cocks an eyebrow at their expectant faces. “Any questions?”

“Can we start calling you Mom and Dad yet?” Jasper asks from the back, hand raised mockingly, and Bellamy rolls his eyes.

“Dream big, Jordan. Any _relevant_ questions?” When no one responds, he continues, “Okay. Good job this week. Double check the schedule, and don’t be late, or Clarke will kill you.”

The RAs shout their thanks as they make their way out, and Marcus meets them at the front of the room. He smiles warmly at them while Bellamy shoves his hands in his pockets awkwardly. He’s never quite gotten used to praise from Marcus, even about a job he knows he’s good at, let alone one he _cares about_ so much. “You both did great this week. You work well together,” he adds, glancing between them, something like surprise leaking into his voice as he says it.

“Well, we figured your two head RAs killing each other in the first week wouldn’t be a good look on you,” Bellamy deadpans.

Marcus laughs lightly, shaking his head. “No, it certainly wouldn’t.” He looks between them again, and Bellamy has no idea what he hopes to find. “Well, get some rest, both of you. It’s going to be a long couple of days.”

When he leaves, Clarke turns to him, smile bright, and a knot forms in his stomach. “So,” she says, “that went well, right?”

“Yeah, it went well,” he assures as they gather their things. He eyes her, considering his next words carefully. “You know I’ve never done this before either, right?”

“I know.”

“But you always… I don’t know, I feel like you’re always checking in with me.”

Clarke throws her backpack over her shoulder and pauses, but she doesn’t look angry, just pensive, eyebrows denting. “You’ve been doing this longer than I have,” she starts, slow. “And… they follow you. They respect you. You _get_ them. My students always seemed to like me, but I know I can also be a little – ”“High strung? Uptight?” he teases.

“I was going to say _intense_ ,” she says, prim.

He softens. “We’re a team, remember? I’m new to this job, too. And the RAs like you. They’re already trying to call us Mom and Dad.” When she laughs, he feels warmth curling in his chest. “Seriously. We’re in this together.”

She cocks her head at him, expression unreadable, but there’s still a soft smile playing at her lips. They make their way out of the conference room and head towards the elevators. “One thing,” he says, remembering. “They _are_ going to throw a party tonight.”

He busts out laughing at the utterly horrified expression on her face.

“A _party_? They’re RAs! Move in is _tomorrow_!”

“That is breaking news. Also, maybe stop yelling so Marcus doesn’t hear you.”

“Bellamy.”

“It’s fine,” he assures, “we’ve done it every year. The head RAs always just dip out, and we make sure to clean everything up. Some people might be hungover, but as long as they can do their jobs, it doesn’t matter. Most of them are of age anyway.”

“And if they can’t do their jobs?”

He shrugs. “Then they’ll get formal citations.”

Clarke is still glaring at him, but there’s no heat to it. “A party?” she repeats, sounding more amused than anything.

He laughs again. “It’s tradition.”

They make it to his room, and he throws his backpack next to his bed while Clarke clambers onto it, still huffing. Since that first day of planning, it’s become a normal part of their routines, to hang out like this. Usually they would prep for the next day of training, talk about how the RAs were doing, discuss potential activities for the semester. But sometimes, they’d throw a movie on Netflix, or Clarke would play some weird new music she had found and tell him he just _had_ to listen to it, and it felt… well, it sort of felt like friendship.

“Why didn’t I know about this last year?” she asks.

“Probably because everyone knew you’d snitch.”

“I resent that implication.”

“I only state facts.”

Clarke scoffs. “Okay, so what do we do in the meantime, then?”

“I figure you _don’t_ want to party with the students we supervise.”

“Hard pass.”

“We could go to Sky Kru? Grab a few beers. We can enjoy ourselves too,” he adds with a grin, flopping onto the bed next to her. She rolls her eyes but she’s smiling, too.

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

They order a pizza and watch a handful of episodes of _Parks and Rec_ to kill time until it’s more socially acceptable to head out to the bar, and they pass Miller on the way out. “Don’t burn the place down,” Bellamy says.

“Monty and Jasper live here. No promises.”

“Clarke is literally right here. You’re inspiring zero confidence.”

Miller flashes him a grin, but there’s also a knowing glint in his eyes that Bellamy _hates_. “Have fun.”

The bar isn’t far from their dorm so they decide to walk, and Bellamy can still feel the last vestiges of summer in the air. Even though he’s excited about move in tomorrow, finally getting into the swing of things with his classes and his job, there’s also something oddly peaceful about the town before the rush of new and old students.

It’s like Clarke is reading his mind, because she says, “I always forget how calm it is before students get back.”

He knew, hypothetically, that she must live in the town since her mom worked here full time, but the reminder still catches him by surprise. “Yeah, it always throws me off whenever I move in early. It’s nice but definitely sort of creepy.”

“I used to _hate_ it. There was nothing to do, and all my friends would leave. It’s like living in a different town.”

He can hear the past tense in her tone and wants to prod her more, but isn’t sure how to ask. So instead, he asks, “Did you think about going somewhere else instead, since your mom works here?”

Clarke visibly tenses, her shoulders tightening, and he wonders if he’s stepped out of line somehow. He’s seen her talking to her mom before, and Abby Griffin is certainly something of a figure on campus – it’s impossible for him to have _not_ known she was Clarke’s mom. “Yeah, I did. But Ark has great programs, and I wanted to be close to home, once my dad got sick.”

 _Fuck_. He didn’t know that part.

She hesitates, and then adds, “My mom and I also aren’t really – uh, speaking right now. I told her I wasn’t going to med school, that I want to try for my Master’s, probably look into art history stuff, and she freaked out.” She inhales a shaky breath, visibly steeling herself. “She told me that if I was going to throw away my future, she wasn’t going to bankroll it. My tuition is paid for, luckily, since she’s an employee and she doesn’t want the publicity of saying that we’re not on speaking terms, but…”

At that, she stops walking and her eyes meet his, so blue and so vulnerable, and his heart constricts to the point of pain. His breath catches. “I really needed this job,” she says quietly. “So, I just… wanted to say thank you. Again. And I wanted to give you the full story.”

He wonders, briefly, how he ever thought he _knew_ Clarke Griffin.

Nodding, Bellamy offers her a small smile, reaching out without thinking and squeezing her hand. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says genuinely as they start walking again. After a brief pause, he adds, “I bet that took your mind off our RAs burning down the building.”

Her laugh is bright and surprised, if a little watery, and it’s the best sound he’s heard in a long time.

***

Bellamy has learned three things about Clarke Griffin since move in.

One: despite how committed she is to things, she is also the absolute _worst_ at taking care of herself. Sometimes, she gets so into her studying or one of her projects or even just prepping for a hall meeting that she completely forgets about a meal, until Bellamy shows up at her door with takeout or two to go plates from the dining hall. It’s why he takes to eating in her room more often than not, or why he’ll text her throughout the day to check in to make sure she’s still breathing. (At least, that’s what he tells himself.) 

Two: she is even more invested in the RA thing than he could have ever anticipated. He’ll wake up for his 8 am to six messages from her, in varying stages of coherence, about things they need to mention at the next staff meeting or events they should think about running. She seems to know every personal detail about their RAs’ lives, to the point that he isn’t convinced that she’s not secretly bugging their rooms for info or something. And Marcus was right. They _do_ work really well together, playing into each other’s strengths, bouncing ideas off of one another. It’s a good mix of friendship and teamwork.

Three: she’s _really_ into college football.

Which, given everything else he knows about her, tracks. She’s deeply competitive and almost scarily loyal to the school. He knows that her parents both met here, and that she and her dad would watch the games together, so it’s something that she still does to hold onto him.

What he isn’t quite prepared for is just _how_ into it she is.

Bellamy understands on some sort of global level that football existed on campus. He even knows that it’s probably coming up soon – it’s the fall semester; he knows it’s a fall sport. But it’s not something he’s actively thinking about.

Which is why, on the first Saturday in September, he’s doing homework in his pajamas when Clarke bursts into his dorm room.

He almost chokes on his coffee when he sees her, and he pushes his glasses up to take her all in, to make sure he’s seeing her correctly. She’s decked out in blue and gold, the university colors, a jersey tucked into a pair of jeans, with an _Ark U_ hat and a giant letterman jacket on. She’s _beaming_ , and he has the urge to tug her into his lap and kiss her. Which, while not the _newest_ development, is becoming increasingly more of a problem.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asks, eyes roving over him, and he feels heat creeping up his neck when he realizes he’s just in boxers and a t-shirt. Because she barged into his room at _eight in the morning_ on a Saturday.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“Bellamy.”

“Clarke.”

“Do you not know what day it is?”

“Saturday?” he offers, and she gives him a half-hearted glare.

“It’s _game day,_ ” she says, practically giddy _,_ coming over to knock his shoulder. Bellamy can’t help the stupid smile he knows is overtaking his face. Her eyes glance down at the work on his desk and she makes a face. “Were you doing _homework_?”

“I have a paper due on Monday.”

“But it’s game day.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Are you not coming?”

He looks up at her just in time to catch the expression, disappointment in her gaze, and something stutters in his chest. He clears his throat. “Yeah, of course I’m coming. I just wanted to get some work done beforehand. The paper,” he reminds her.

The smile she returns him is more than worth all the work he’s going to have to do tomorrow.

“Great,” she says, bounding over to his closet. “You need to get changed, then, so we can make it to the tailgate. Raven said the engineering people will be there and they always have the world’s most intense drinking games set up.”

“At eight in the morning?”

“Can’t drink all day if you don’t start in the morning.”

“Hard to argue with that logic.”

Bellamy goes into the attached bathroom to hop in the shower while Clarke scours his closet for appropriate game day attire, and he hears her yell, “Are you sure you even _go_ to this school?”

“Wait, this is a school? I just started squatting here and no one told me to leave.”

“Your school spirit is appalling.”

He has the towel wrapped around his waist when he walks back in, and he would be lying if he said he _isn’t_ satisfied that Clarke gapes for a moment before clamping her mouth shut. Her eyes flit up and down for the briefest of moments, and he refuses to feel embarrassed – he knows he doesn’t look _bad_ , and it’s definitely nice to know that Clarke thinks he’s hot, too.

Bellamy grins at her, shaking some of the excess water out of his hair. “I’m so sorry to disappoint you,” he deadpans. She rolls her eyes, breaking the moment, but he can still see the heat creeping up her neck as she turns back to the closet.

“Here.” She tosses him a t-shirt with _Ark U_ scrawled across the front. “This is somehow the _only_ shirt you own that’s not a res life approved polo.”

“I’m a professional.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“So I’ve been told. We’re meeting Raven there?”

Clarke nods, settling back on the bed while Bellamy grabs his clothes and heads back into the bathroom to change. He’s heard about Raven and the whole messy back story, how Clarke had started dating Finn sophomore year, only to have Raven transfer in and announce herself as Finn’s long distance girlfriend from high school. They’d both broken up with him and kept each other, so at least there’s some sort of happy ending to the whole shitty affair.

He knows how important Raven is to Clarke, but he’s never actually met her, over the last month that he and Clarke have been really and truly _friends_. He’s strangely nervous, and he studies his reflection in the still-foggy mirror, fussing with his curls until he hears Clarke shout again, “You done primping yet?”

He rolls his eyes and puts on his glasses, trying not to overthink it. It’s going to be fine.

Probably.

The stadium is right in the middle of campus, so there are people setting up shop right outside of the dorm when they step outside. Everyone is decked out in the university colors, tents and TVs set up, music filtering out of speakers, and Bellamy has to admit – the energy _is_ fun, even if it is now 8:30 in the morning and his brain is still half-attached to his Ancient Greek Civilizations paper.

Clarke immediately perks up, and without even thinking, she grabs his hand and tugs him through the crowd. His heart rate spikes for a moment, but he just twines their fingers together so he doesn’t lose her, and she flashes him a quick grin that lets him know that was the right choice. People are shouting chants that he can’t quite make out and sometimes Clarke throws in a response, and it’s so clear she’s in her element, here, that he feels his chest swell.

As they near another group of tents, Bellamy can tell a difference almost immediately, the music and shouting getting louder. There are students gathered around a bunch of tables, playing some sort of relay race drinking game, and Clarke bounds up excitedly to a slim girl with long, dark hair.

“Hey, you finally made it.”

“Had to get Sleeping Beauty.”

The girl looks up at him, dark eyes narrowing slightly, and she cocks her head. “Had to,” she repeats, humor lining her voice, and there’s something knowing in her gaze that Bellamy can’t shake. “Raven. Nice to meet you. You must be Bellamy.” She glances at Clarke before continuing, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“None of it is true.”

Raven actually laughs at that, seeming surprised by the sound, and Clarke grins at both of them. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” he adds.

That knowing look is still there, and something else, too, but she smiles and nods her head towards the game. “Y’all want in next round?”

It takes him two full run-throughs to even figure out the _rules_ , and by the third, he’s feeling good and a little drunk. Raven’s friends are fun, if a bit intense, which is apparently his type when it comes to the people he likes. He’s not sure why he’s never really gotten into this whole football thing before, because it really _is_ fun – not just the drinking, but everyone getting excited, talking about the game, showing pride for the school. That sentimentality he felt so sharply on the first day back has waned a bit, but he still feels it every once in awhile, and it’s nice to remember that other people love this place as much as he does, even if it’s for different reasons.

Clarke sidles up to him, leaning against his side. She’s an affectionate drunk, and so he throws an arm around her shoulders and tries not to let his breath catch when she cuddles closer. They’re friends. Friends do this. His crush is going to go away _any day_ now.

“Having fun?” he teases.

“Game day is the best,” she says, definitive, and he laughs.

“Do we need to head in soon?”

She hums in thought. “Probably. I like to be in there at least thirty minutes before kick-off, to make sure I can watch the team come in. That was my dad and I’s favorite part.”

Her eyes are closed, so he lets himself just watch her for a moment. It does something funny to him whenever she says things like that, offhand, as though she’s not opening up a piece of herself so candidly and vulnerably. Bellamy’s never known how to just _do_ that, and they barely _know_ each other. Well, they’ve known _of_ each other for over a year, were sort of rivals for most of that time, and now she’s –

Well, she’s probably his best friend.

Which terrifies him in ways he can’t even begin to think about _here_ , at a tailgate, with her pressed against his side.

He squeezes her shoulders quickly and then checks his phone. “Well, we should probably leave soon then. You want to grab Raven?”

Clarke shakes her head. “She never winds up going to the game until at least halftime. Let’s go ahead and go.”

It’s easy to make their way to the stadium, since they’re still so early, and they head to the student gate and scan their Ark ID cards. Spectators are starting to fill up the stands, but they’re some of the first students to fill the section, and Clarke is a professional, leading him directly where she wants to be.

“Hey,” she says, nudging his shoulder when they’re finally sitting. “Thanks for coming with me today.”

He flashes her a grin. “Of course. You gave me free beer and an excuse to not work on my paper. What’s not to like?”

Her smile goes soft, but she doesn’t say anything else, just turns back to face the stadium. He clears his throat. “So what am I getting myself into here?”

“You’ll see.”

While they wait, she talks about her classes and he talks about O, both of them trading stories about how the RAs are doing until the stands are nearly full and music begins to swell around them.

Clarke clambers to her feet and pulls him up with her, bouncing excitedly on her toes. Bellamy is transfixed, watching nothing but her, and she’s reciting the words along with the announcer completely from memory. He hears what sounds like smoke machines, and Clarke cheers as he assumes the players run out onto the field, but he just – he can’t stop looking at _her_.

Breathless, she turns to look at him. “Wasn’t that amazing?”

“Yeah,” he says. His eyes still haven’t seen the field. “It was awesome.”

***

Bellamy is standing on a ladder when she says it, which should really be illegal.

“So I met someone.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t slip and fall to his death, honestly.

He does choke on air, though, but pretends he just got some of the fake spider web he’s holding in his mouth. Which – _also_ not ideal – but definitely better than _I freaked out because you met someone and I haven’t gotten the guts to tell you I like you yet_ , so. He’ll take what he can get, in this absolute shit show of a situation.

“Oh, yeah? Who?”

Even though he isn’t looking at her, he knows her too well at this point. He can practically _hear_ her biting her lip, shifting on her feet awkwardly. “Her name is Lexa,” she continues. “She’s our year, an Orientation Leader not an RA.” The bizarre rivalry between OLs and RAs will forever remain a mystery to him, but he is also a territorial person, so he’s happy to keep it up for solidarity’s sake. “We met at a party last month, and I think I’m going to invite her to Raven’s Halloween thing tomorrow.”

Bellamy nods, and surveys his work in an attempt to buy himself some time. He can’t _blame_ her for finding someone. She probably isn’t interested in him in the first place, and the crush that he thought would go away has decidedly _not_ , which is his own damn fault. Just because he hasn’t said or done anything about it doesn’t mean she isn’t allowed to meet people. Or date people. Or hook up with people.

With _Orientation Leaders._ God.

“That sounds cool. Do you like her?”

“No, I hate her,” she deadpans. He climbs down the ladder, meeting her eyes for the first time. She searches his face and he hopes that she can’t read anything in his expression. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” he says, automatic. “I can wingman you. Miller says I’m great.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

He puts on his best attempt at an affronted expression. “I am _phenomenal_ at getting people laid. In more ways than one.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, and Bellamy picks up the ladder to move down the hall and continue their decorating. “I feel like you’d be too protective to help people get laid.”

“I reject that assessment.” He pauses, regretting the next words before they’re even out of his mouth. “If you like her, I’ll like her. I just want to make sure she’s good enough for you.”

“See,” she teases, but he can hear the smile in her voice. “Protective.”

When they finish decorating, he tells Clarke he needs to finish up some homework. Instead, he makes his way to Miller’s room, barging in and collapsing on his bed without a word. He’s playing video games, and gives him an once-over before sighing heavily and turning off the console.

“What happened?”

“Clarke.”

A pause.

“So are you – ”

“Yeah, yeah, you were right, apparently I’m in love with Clarke Griffin, which is a _real fucking problem_ because she’s talking to someone else right now.”

Miller whistles lowly and gives him a half-hearted pat on the back. “I didn’t know it was _that_ bad.”

“Well, me either, until tonight. Join the club.” Bellamy sits up and gives Miller a miserable look. “What the hell do I do?”

Apparently Miller is feeling generous, because he actually stops to think it over. “Well,” he starts, “she’s one of your best friends. You don’t want to lose that, right?” He shakes his head. “So I think you have to support her right now. Maybe this other thing will fizzle out and then you’ll have your shot, but you didn’t take your opening when you had the chance, so now you have to live with that until you get another one.”

Bellamy groans and drops his forehead on Miller’s shoulder. “That was surprisingly insightful.”

Miller snorts. “You’re welcome.”

“Can you come with me to Raven’s party tomorrow? As back up?”

“Fine. But you owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re my hero.”

***

It feels a little ridiculous, to be dressing up and going to a party tonight, because _actual_ Halloween isn’t for another five days. But with RA duties, Bellamy and Clarke – and most of their friends, for that matter – can’t go out for the actual night, since it’s one of the most high risk nights of the year and they need to be at the dorm. Bellamy would have been perfectly fine not celebrating the holiday at all, just having the haunted house like he usually does and maybe watching some scary movies with Clarke and Miller, but apparently Halloween is practically sacred to Raven.

So here he is, dressed in the most low-stakes outfit he could come up with: a toga, with a spray-painted crown of laurels sitting on top of his curls. Parties in general aren’t his favorite – Clarke’s estimation of his protective streak is, unfortunately, a little too on-the-nose – but much like the tailgate, Raven and her friends know how to have a good time. Miller brought Monty along, who of course brought Jasper, so there are even a few other people that Bellamy knows. It’s keeping him from spending the _whole_ night fixating on Clarke and Lexa. He hasn’t seen either of them yet, but the nerves are enough to keep the adrenaline pumping.

Thankfully, it’s at that moment Miller hands him a shot. He downs it instantly, wincing as the liquor goes down, and he can hear Miller cough.

“Another?”

“Another.”

He isn’t intending to be _drunk_ by the time Clarke shows up, but he’s in the middle of a game of beer pong when she slips beneath his arm. She’s smiling widely at him, and he lets his eyes roam over her appreciatively. She’s wearing a red wig with a green leotard and tights. And she looks, well – “Fuck, you look good.”

Her laugh is bright and clear. The sound warms his entire body, and he lets himself tug her closer. “Thanks. I had some asshole tell me Poison Ivy wasn’t actually bisexual once, I proved him wrong, and now she’s my favorite.”

“Of course.”

“Blake, it’s your move,” Miller calls across the table, and Bellamy shoots him his middle finger. He sinks the ball into one of the cups, and Miller groans.

“You having fun?” Clarke asks, humor lining her voice, and Bellamy grins.

“It’s amazing what happens when alcohol gets involved.” The look she gives him is all fondness, and he wants nothing more than to just say _fuck it_ , to take her back to the dorm, to tell her right now –

“Can I introduce you to Lexa?”

The smile falters, but he tries to reposition it and nods, automatic. He waves to Miller, who seems to understand and just gives him a meaningful look. Clarke grabs his arm and drags him through the throngs of people and over to a girl with dark hair dressed as Catwoman, with black makeup smudged around her bright eyes. He can tell she was already watching them when they walk up, but she smiles softly at Clarke, her face turning stony again when she shifts to Bellamy.

“Lexa, this is Bellamy, who I was telling you about. We work as head RAs together.”

Her lips turn up slightly, but her expression remains cool, and she extends her hand professionally. “Pleasure.”

“Likewise,” he says, shaking her hand. Her grip is firm.

“I’m going to go grab us some drinks,” Clarke says, gaze flitting between them. She pecks Lexa on the cheek and darts off towards the kitchen.

Bellamy bounces on his toes, wracking his brain for _something_ to talk to her about. What the hell do Orientation Leaders talk about, anyway? The weather? He could mention football, maybe she and Clarke like that. He’s deeply regretting being drunk for this conversation.

“So, Bellamy,” Lexa begins crisply, and he feels his stomach drop. “You and Clarke are close, I take it?”

“Yeah,” he says on a nod. “We work together, like she said. We’ve become pretty good friends this year because of it.”

She cocks her head at him, eyeing him critically, and he feels uncomfortable beneath her gaze. Like she can see straight through him. As if on cue, she responds, “But you want more than that.”

Not a question.

“I didn’t – ”

“Hey.” Clarke is breathless, handing Lexa a red Solo cup filled with some concoction, and she smiles at both of them. “Getting along?”

“Of course,” Lexa says breezily. “Just getting to know each other.”

Bellamy swallows thickly. “I’m probably going to head out soon. Don’t worry about tonight,” he adds. “I can hold the fort down.”

Clarke frowns, and he has to resist the urge to lean forward and smooth out the dent between her eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not even real Halloween yet. I can manage the kids for a night,” he teases. Glancing at Lexa, he offers them both a small smile. “Have a good night. It was good to meet you.”

He slips away before either of them can say anything, running a hand over his face. Miller is sitting on one of the couches with Monty, his arm slung around the back and their faces close together, and he can’t help the feeling of softness that overtakes him. He pulls out his phone and shoots him a text to let him know he’s heading out and walks out into the crisp October air, relishing the way it tingles on his skin, and sucks down several calming breaths.

Part of him thought that maybe seeing her with someone else would finally quash his feelings once and for all – that the rational, logical side of his brain would take over and he’d just… _stop_.

But instead, his chest feels two sizes too small, and he wonders how he ever thought he _loved_ someone before her, because it definitely didn’t feel like _this_. And it’s not just how beautiful she is, but everything: her wit and drive and kindness and honesty.

When he makes it home, he showers and changes, collapsing on his bed in a heap. His phone buzzes on his nightstand as he tries to find an episode of _Schitt’s Creek_ to throw on in the background, and his heart twinges when he picks it up.

 **Clarke:** Thanks for tonight, again

 **Clarke:** You’re the best

***

The next few weeks are filled with RA duties – they spend _actual_ Halloween the way Bellamy would have preferred it, watching shitty scary movies and sitting by the duty phone in case something goes awry – and then midterms start, and so he barely sees Clarke. It helps in some ways, because he can sort of pretend that his heart isn’t pounding out of his chest every time she texts him, but it also just means that he’s even less prepared when she shows up unannounced at his room on the second week of November carrying a bunch of takeout and a knowing smile.

“Hey,” she says quietly, and he actually jumps out of his seat. She’s backlit by the hallway light, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s sitting in near-total darkness. He grabs his phone to check the time and realizes it’s nearly ten and he still hasn’t eaten.

“Fuck, I – ”

“I figured you’d forgotten dinner.” She holds up the takeout with an almost sheepish grin, and that feeling is there again, the warmth pooling in his chest. He’s so exhausted that he wants nothing more than to just bury his face in the crook of her neck, and it’s taking all of his willpower to keep himself at his desk.

Instead, he just smiles back at her, abandoning his desk for now. His paper can wait. “You’re a lifesaver.” He flips on a few lamps to clear out the darkness and grabs his laptop so they can watch an episode or two of something while they eat. She gets settled on the floor and spreads out the food, handing him a few boxes wordlessly, and he’s overwhelmed with gratitude.

He puts on an episode of _Bojack Horseman_ in the background on low volume. “So, what’s up with you? Classes are murdering me right now. Tell me about the civilized world out there.”

Clarke laughs and pops a dumpling into her mouth, considering. “Not much. Classes have been fine.” She pauses for a fraction of a second. “Lexa and I aren’t really seeing each other anymore.”

Bellamy looks at her, and her gaze is focused a little too intently on the laptop. He can read the tension in every line of her body, and hates that his first reaction is _relief_. “What happened?”

She sighs. “I don’t know. We got into this weird fight.” She pauses again, like she wants to say more, but just shakes her head. “We weren’t together for that long. It’s fine.” Bellamy knows better than to push her on it.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders and she leans her head against him. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much recently.”

“Not your fault. Midterms suck.”

“From your mouth to Professor Pike’s ears.”

Clarke laughs. It’s a little watery, but she leans further into his side, and when she reaches for her food she doesn’t untangle herself from his arms. “Any new gossip for me?”

Bellamy scoffs. “You’re the one literally stalking our RAs.”

“Please. You have no other friends. You are so invested in their lives.”

“A fair hit. Monty and Miller are still hanging out,” he adds, and she brightens immediately.

“That’s awesome. They’re good together.”

When the episode finishes, she packs up her food and hesitates for just a moment before wrapping him in a quick hug. “Thanks,” she says, softly. Then with a nudge, “Get back to your paper.”

Bellamy tries not to read into it, her coming to see him just to tell him that she and Lexa broke up. And it’s not like that’s the _only_ reason she stopped by, but – he’s trying to take Miller’s advice, about taking his chance when it’s open. He wants to do it without wrecking his friendship with Clarke if he can help it. He wonders, on good days, if it would change anything at all, besides his ability to kiss her whenever he wants.

The problem is that he can’t figure out how to just _do it_. They’ve been solidly friends for so many months now that it feels like some unspoken window has passed, to tell her how he feels. There isn’t a guidebook for “how to tell your nemesis-turned-co-leader that you’re in love with them,” shockingly.

So it’s by sheer dumb luck that his opportunity falls into his lap.

“I’m staying on campus, by the way, so if there’s any issues with closing for the holiday I’ll take care of it. I know you’re going out of town,” Clarke adds as they’re prepping for RA staff meeting, and Bellamy stares at her. Thanksgiving Break starts in two days, and the dorms shut down for the most part, except for students who need exceptions and can’t afford to make it home for a four-day trip.

“You’re not staying here for Thanksgiving.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “My mom and I aren’t on speaking terms,” she reminds him, as if he could forget. “I don’t really have anywhere else to go. Besides, I like it here. And this way you won’t be so stressed out about the dorm falling apart in your absence.” Her tone is teasing, but there’s a hint of sadness there, too, and Bellamy can’t just let her stay here _alone_.

“Come home with me.”

He really, really wishes this was _not_ the context in which he was saying those words to her, but he’ll take what he can get. The surprise is evident on her face, her jaw going a bit slack, and her eyes are boring into his own as though trying to find something there. He has no idea what she’ll see.“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Becca always cooks up a ridiculous amount of food. O wants to meet you anyway,” he adds, and realizes too late that he might be giving himself away when a delighted grin spreads across her lips. He can feel the heat creeping up his face, and he rubs his neck awkwardly. “You don’t have to, but – ”

“No, no, I’d love to. That’s…” She reaches out and grabs his hand. “That’s really nice. Thank you, Bellamy.”

He squeezes her hand. Clearing his throat, he turns his attention back to their meeting agenda. “Anything else we need to cover, you think?”

Clarke shakes her head as though to clear her thoughts. “No, I don’t think so. We can give them an easy last meeting before break.”

“Sounds good. I’m going to give O’s aunt a call before the meeting, just to give her a heads up that you’re coming back with me.”

She gives him a look he can’t read, eyes and smile warm, and nods. They’re in her room today, so he walks outside and wanders the hall as the phone rings. Becca’s voice sounds stressed when she picks up. “Bellamy? Is everything okay?”

He bites back on a smile. “Yeah, yeah, everything is fine. I guess I should call more, huh?”

Her laugh comes through slightly muffled, like she’s holding the phone with her shoulder. “You should! What’s going on?”

“Clarke doesn’t have a place to go for Thanksgiving, so I told her she could come home with me. That’s okay, right?”

“Yeah, of course. You might have to sleep on the couch, but we’ll make it work. You know we always have more than enough food.” She pauses for a minute, and he can hear rustling on the other end. It sounds like she’s just gotten back from the store and is jostling with grocery bags. “You two have gotten pretty close this year, huh?”

“We’ve just been working together a lot. And she’s, uh, cool.”

He can hear the smile in Becca’s voice. “Ah, I see.”

“Shut up.”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“No,” he says, too quickly, and she laughs again. He sighs. “I… kind of want her to be. It’s complicated.”

“Well, she’s more than welcome at Thanksgiving.”

Bellamy smiles. “Thanks. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Of course. Can’t wait, and drive safe. And I’m definitely telling your sister that you have a crush on Clarke.”

He groans half-heartedly as she hangs up. When he goes back into Clarke’s room, she’s laying on the bed with a book in her lap. He feels the familiar tug in his chest, that ever-present desire to crawl on top of her and brush her curls out of her face.

He’s going to tell her. He is.

“We’re all set for Thanksgiving,” he says instead, and she grins widely.

_Soon._

***

They’re the last ones to leave for the holiday, but Becca only lives about two hours away from Ark, so Bellamy isn’t worried about it. They stop by to see Marcus before they head out, and he waves them off and tells them to have a good break.

“It feels _weird_ leaving the dorm,” Clarke breathes once they’re on the highway. Her feet are propped up on the dashboard and she’s sifting through her music, drumming her fingertips against her knee. “It’s different from when I was just an RA last year.”

Bellamy snorts. “That’s just the control freak in you.”

He glances sidelong at her. She sticks her tongue out at him but doesn’t refute the point. And it’s – it’s _nice_ , in such an easy way. It would be so natural for him to reach over and rest his hand on her leg, or to twine their fingers together. He wonders, absently, if she’d mind, or if she’d even say anything about it, but – trying to have that conversation while operating heavy machinery en route to his sister’s aunt’s house feels like the opposite of an intelligent life choice.

The drive is easy; they didn’t leave until almost 6, and the Tuesday before Thanksgiving warrants less traffic than the other days leading up to the holiday. Even though it’s been one of the most stable places he’s lived, Becca’s house has never really felt much like _home_ , but there’s still something comforting about the familiar street signs and the warm glow of the porch light when they pull up. It’s cozy place, red brick with a white door, and Bellamy’s heart pangs when he sees the soft smile on Clarke’s lips.

“It’s nice,” she says quietly.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “C’mon, let’s get our stuff. I’m sure there’s some food waiting for us.”

He grabs both of their bags and leads the way inside. “Hey! We’re here!”

“Hey!” Becca greets them at the door, wearing an apron, and her dark hair is pulled into a loose ponytail. She has flour on her forehead and Bellamy frowns as he wipes it off. “I’m so glad you made it safely. I’m Becca,” she adds to Clarke, who is standing somewhat awkwardly by the entry.

“Clarke,” she greets, offering an outstretched hand. “Thank you so much for having me.” Becca just laughs.

“We’re huggers, here, sorry.” Clarke gives him a look of pure shock as Becca comes in, and he snorts.

Octavia appears at his shoulder. “That’s definitely just Becca,” she deadpans. Bellamy grins and puts his arm around her, pressing his lips to her temple.

“Hey, O. Missed you.”

“Yeah, yeah, missed you too.” She’s going off to college next fall, and is still fully situated in the _my older brother is so embarrassing_ stage.

Becca turns to look at all three of them and claps her hands. “So, food. Who’s hungry?”

They eat at the dining room table, Bellamy filling his family in on his time in college, Clarke chiming in with the craziest RA stories, Octavia discussing the places she’s looking for college. It feels… strangely wholesome, and Clarke, to her credit, slots in seamlessly. She gives as good as she gets, which is saying something when it comes to O, and by the end of dinner everyone is smiling and laughing.

“I’ll clean up,” Bellamy offers, grabbing plates. Becca goes to protest, but Clarke jumps up to help, and so she and Octavia head into the living room to find a movie.

“Your family is great,” Clarke says warmly as he hands her the clean dish for her to dry off. “I was a little nervous about meeting them, honestly.”

He smiles at her. He _knows_ it’s his moment – or _a_ moment – but she’s also staying with his family for four days, and if he fucks that up, she has nowhere to go. “Well, they like people who make fun of me, so you passed the test.”

She laughs, taking another plate from him. Clearing his throat, and without really thinking through the consequences he adds, “Plus, you had nothing to be worried about.”

“Yeah? Why is that?” She turns to look at him, the movement so resolute it jars him a little.

He faces her, letting her eyes bore into his own, and struggles to find the words.

“Do you know why Lexa and I stopped seeing each other?” she continues, a smile playing at her lips.

Bellamy swears he stops breathing for a moment. He feels utterly ridiculous for worrying about the plate he’s holding.

“You didn’t tell me, no,” he manages. 

Clarke steps infinitesimally closer, so she’s right within his personal space. “Apparently, the other head RA I hung out with all the time had a thing for me, according to her,” she says softly. “And I should be with him, because that’s who I was actually into.”

For all he’s been thinking about this, he takes very little time to make the decision _in_ the moment. He lets the plate clatter in the sink and his hands find purchase in her hair immediately, bringing his mouth down to hers. The kiss is messy and disjointed for only a second until they find their footing, and there’s soap on his hands, and they’re standing in his sister’s aunt’s kitchen, but – _fuck_ , kissing Clarke is the best thing he could have ever imagined. She sighs into his mouth and he groans, one hand moving down to grab her hip, and he _never_ wants this moment to end.

When he pulls away, breathless, their mouths are centimeters apart.

“Hi,” Clarke whispers, awed, and her smile is so fucking radiant he thinks it could light up the entire sun. And it’s because of _him_.

“Hi,” he repeats. “I love you. I’m in love with you. If I didn’t make that clear.”

She laughs, bumping her nose against his. “You did, yeah. But I love you, too. Just for the record.”

They finish the dishes and go to join O and Becca, who are watching them with smug expressions.

“You done making out?” Octavia asks, prim.

Becca has the decency to knock her arm, but follows up with, “I take it she’s your girlfriend now.”

Bellamy groans while Clarke just looks delighted, collapsing on the opposite couch. “I am, yeah.” She beams at him, and the irritation melts out of himimmediately.

He rolls his eyes, sitting beside her, and she puts her feet in his lap. “I guess you don’t need to take the couch, then,” Becca tells him with a sly smile.

***

Later, with her head pillowed on his bare chest and his hand tracing patterns against her back, Clarke bolts upright in bed.

“Do you think we have to fill out forms or something? For HR?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Like, are there rules against us dating as head RAs? Do we need to talk to Marcus, or – ”

He cuts her off with a kiss, which is a very convenient new tactic. He is so glad he gets to kiss her whenever he wants now.

“You are ridiculous,” he says, fond.

“Just covering our bases,” she half-grumbles, tucking herself back against his chest.

“What are the odds the RAs have a bet on us dating?”

Clarke snorts. “I’d say pretty damn high. Jasper was calling us Mom and Dad on day one.”

“Should we give them something to talk about, then?”

He presses a kiss to her neck, reveling in the way her breath ruffles his hair and her nails scrape against his scalp.

He’s never been so grateful for his job.


End file.
